


Falling

by Padraigen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Tony, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-29 11:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19018873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Padraigen/pseuds/Padraigen
Summary: Numbness spreads through his body, cold and unrelenting. He can’t feel, he can’t hear, he can’tthink. All he can see is Tony.Falling.





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Stony fic, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Set vaguely post-Avengers (2012).
> 
> Many thanks to my lovely betas, [wynnesome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnesome/pseuds/wynnesome) and [Cluegirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cluegirl/pseuds/Cluegirl)! Thank you so much for all your help!

Numbness spreads through his body, cold and unrelenting. He can’t feel, he can’t hear, he can’t  _think_. All he can see is Tony.

Falling.

“Captain?”

His hands are shaking, gloves filthy with dirt and sweat and alien blood, so he unclenches his grip on them and drops them in his lap. He wonders where his shield is, but the thought is fleeting and bears little weight. He’s the center of a circle of bodies, those who are dead or dying, and still all he can see is Tony, falling.

“Captain, are you well?”

A hand on his shoulder jerks him out from where he’s sunk deep into his mind, Tony falling again and again on replay, like those videos on Instagram Tony had shown him. That particular memory hits him like a punch to the gut and drives away the numbness with dizzying, shattering force.

“Tony,” he breathes, choked. Pain rips through him, like just speaking the name opened a floodgate within him, bringing a tidal wave of grief, agony, longing,  _defeat_. Steve sits in the middle of a sea of bodies, and he feels defeated.

“It is Thor, Captain. Are you hurt?”

Lifting his head requires more effort than he’d expended throughout this entire battle. His ears are ringing with the absence of Tony’s voice. Steve remembers screaming out Tony’s name when he’d seen him get shot down—no one there to catch him. He remembers the resonating silence on the other end of the comm.

There’s a noise behind him, and he almost doesn’t place it because it can’t be… but it is. It’s the whir of repulsors, the sound of metal touching down on concrete. Standing up feels like trying to swim through sludge, but he manages it. He barely notices Thor backing off as he turns around, or his gloves falling to the wayside.

The Iron Man suit stands there, and then Tony’s faceplate pops open and there he is. He looks like he got into a fight with a semi truck and barely triumphed, but he’s  _there_. He’s  _alive_. Steve’s throat catches like he’s suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

Tony breaks the silence with a simple, “Well, shit, Cap.” He pokes at an appendage of a very dead alien with the toe of his metal boot, his face the picture of disgust. It’s such a familiar expression that Steve wants to laugh, but he doesn’t think he has enough breath for it in his lungs.

“Tony…” Steve wishes he could find other words that weren’t just Tony’s name. But it doesn’t make sense that Tony’s standing there, alive. Steve had seen him go down. He’d  _seen_. He wants to say so many things, to demand Tony tell him what happened, to tell Tony how relieved he is that Tony is there. The brick of his spine crumbles and he slumps, the relief so intense that the ball of it feels like the sum total of him, like he himself is not conscious of his body. “Are—Are you okay?”

Tony’s eyes widen—Steve, for once, lets himself notice just how brown and expressive they are—and his mouth opens in a little ‘o’ of surprise. “Am  _I_  okay? I’m not the one who just went all berserker on alien ass just now. What the fuck, Cap? You just single-handedly took out, like, half their army, no exaggeration. And you scared the shit out of the civilians.”

Steve looks around at that and notices some of said civilians creeping out from their hiding places, most of them staring at him in some stage of disbelief or wariness. Steve swallows and turns around again. Nat and Clint are stepping gracefully over alien corpses, moving to Thor’s side, and even they are looking at him oddly. Thor himself is grinning at him, a look of awe—or whatever comes closest to awe for a god of thunder—on his face. Steve turns back around.

He stumbles, exhaustion making him lose his footing, and he almost hits the ground again. But Tony catches him, one arm going around his waist while his other hand steadies him, pressing gently but firmly against his stomach. “Easy there, big guy.”

Steve lets Tony take most of his weight for a moment, his arm going around Tony’s shoulders. He can barely feel the cool metal beneath him.

“Widow, you can take care of this mess, right?" Tony phrases it as a question, but it really isn’t one. "I’m taking him back to the compound.” Natasha’s already slowly nodding before Steve can utter a word of protest, and then they’re in the air.

It’s not the first time Steve’s flown with Tony like this, but it’s just as exhilarating every time. He brings up his other arm to wrap around Tony’s neck, not caring about what the public will think of it, not even caring about what Tony will say. He needs this.

But Tony doesn’t say anything, only tightens his hold on Steve’s waist.

The cold breeze whipping past as they soar through the air brings back the numbness, reminding him of how weary he is. He feels the way Tony looks after 48 hours in the workshop and 4 cups of coffee in four minutes.

Steve can’t remember much of the trip back to Tony’s penthouse, but he’s sitting on Tony’s couch now with a hot cup of tea that Tony made for him in his hands. Tony is sitting in a chair in front of him, out of the armor and into a comfortable white sweater. It makes him look soft. Fragile.

 _Breakable,_  a cruel voice whispers in his mind.

A lump forms in Steve’s throat, and he slumps back against the couch, his shoulders curling in. Tony leans forward, a concerned look in his eyes he’s doing a poor job of repressing. “So… what was that back there?” he asks, not at all as casually as he probably thinks.

“Nothing,” Steve says, too quickly. “I just… I thought—” He huffs out an irritated breath and tries to get himself to look Tony in the eye. He doesn’t quite succeed. “I thought I saw—I saw. I saw you go down, Tony. I saw you fall, and no one… no one was there.”  _No one was there to catch you._ I _wasn’t there._ Scenes of New York and the battle with the Chitauri flash through his mind, of Tony going through the wormhole, of himself ordering it closed. He remembers Tony coming back through in the nick of time but not slowing his descent. Not controlling it. Just… falling.

He makes himself look at Tony now, tries to get him to see why he’s affected so much.

Tony smiles, and it’s awkward and looks more like a grimace than anything. He says, with such clearly false arrogance, “You were worried I was hurt. So you destroyed half an army of alien parasites all by yourself to avenge me. Aww, Cap, I didn’t know you cared.”

Tony’s tone is teasing, but his eyes flash with something more serious, something uncertain, like he maybe, actually  _doesn’t_ know. Steve realizes at that moment that,  _why would he?_ Steve’s never said anything, never made his regard for Tony clear. Steve had considered them friends, but maybe Tony doesn’t. Maybe Tony just thinks Steve sees him as a co-worker, nothing more, nothing less.

“I care,” Steve says, with as much conviction as he can fit into his voice. “Tony, I thought you  _died_.” Saying the words aloud makes the terror and fear of facing that loss flare up again. “You didn’t—you didn’t say anything.”

The half-grin, half-grimace falls off Tony’s face. He looks more stricken than Steve has ever seen him. “I’m—no. I’m fine, Steve. Really. A little banged up, sure, but no more than usual. And, you’re right, one of those assholes got off a lucky shot but I got it under control. I’m okay.”

Tony looks down at his lap, where he’s wringing his hands together in an ordinary act of nervousness. It’s not something he’s used to seeing from Tony. He’s used to Tony talking with his hands or manipulating equipment and materials with them. The contrast is such that he can’t quite help the way he reaches out a hand and stills one of Tony’s by taking it up and boldly lacing their fingers together. “I’m glad.”

Tony doesn’t pull away; he just gives Steve’s hand a squeeze. “I did, by the way,” he says lightly. “Say something. But I guess you were too busy kicking alien ass to hear me.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, setting the cup of tea on the side table next to the couch. He takes both Tony’s hands in his, almost unable to believe he’s doing it. Almost unable to believe Tony is letting him. What can’t have been more than an hour ago, Steve had been feeling such an acute sense of loss he’d gone wild with it, and now he thinks he might be more at peace than he’s been since waking from the ice.

“I still can’t believe you did that. For me.”

“Why not?” Steve asks, completely seriously. But he thinks he knows. Tony’s used to giving his all to the people he cares about and expecting nothing in return. Sometimes even worse than nothing—earning himself only increased expectations instead of any genuine appreciation. Tony is worth so much more than he gives himself credit for. More than so many other people do, too—including Steve himself at times. It’s a painful realization, knowing that he’s been part of the problem. He’s going to change that, though.

Steve wishes he could tell Tony how important he is in a way that would make Tony believe him, but he can’t find the words.

Before he has made the conscious decision to do so, he’s leaning in. He only stops when he realizes what he’d been about to do—what he’d  _wanted_  to do. He’d wanted to kiss Tony. It’s an effort not to jerk back; he doesn't want to startle Tony as much as he'd just startled himself with the realization of something that might be one-sided.

Tony’s looking at him, eyes filled with a question he doesn’t ask. Steve wants to answer him anyway, but he doesn’t entirely understand what this feeling is. He only knows that it’s intense and important and it feels  _right,_ and… “ _Tony…_ ”

“Steve?” There’s an unbearable uncertainty in Tony’s expression, but he’s leaning in, too. It’s such a slight movement that Steve only notices it because he’s so close.

And, God, does Steve  _want_.

He grew up fighting bullies who wanted to overpower and take from others, and he's never wanted to be the person who does that. But asking—he's never been afraid to ask for what he wants.

“Can I kiss you?” The words are quiet, undemanding. He watches Tony swallow, and now even he is looking at Steve in awe. Like he can’t quite believe this is happening.

Well, that makes two of them.

“If you want to,” Tony says, locked still. He doesn’t move, though. He’s staring at Steve with all the doubt he never allows himself to show to the team because then they might lose whatever trust in him they had. He’s staring like he doesn’t think he’s permitted to have this, like the second he reaches for it with both hands is the second it’ll be ripped away.

Steve knows he’ll have to address these issues—the way he’s treated Tony in the past, and the way Tony sees himself—but that will come later.

Right now, Steve just kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, and have a moment, I would really appreciate knowing your thoughts in the comments! Thank you very much :)
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](https://padraigendragon.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
